


The Five People You Meet in Der Waffle Haus

by kurushi



Category: Dead Like Me
Genre: Character Development, Death References, Gen, Yuletide 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-09
Updated: 2010-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurushi/pseuds/kurushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After you die, if you are fortunate or unfortunate enough to become a reaper, you have very little choice in the people you meet.  Roxy's meetings mainly occur in a place called Der Waffle Haus, and they probably aren't the people she'd have picked had she been given any choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Five People You Meet in Der Waffle Haus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CherryIce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryIce/gifts).



> Dear Recipient,  
> I hope that I've captured some of the awesomeness of Roxy that you wanted to read. I was so excited to get her specifically for my assignment (although I'd offered all DLM characters) that I'm a little worried I've had too much fun writing it. Is it possible to have too much fun at Yuletide? In any case, thank you so much for your request and prompt. It's made my year.  
> Love from your writer.  
> P.S. All my love to helenvalentine who proofread and to my housemates and friends who suffered my brainstorming and canon revision.

  
**Mason**   


Roxy eyed the guy standing beside the door to Der Waffle Haus warily. Rube gave her an encouraging nod and pulled out a leather organiser that looked nearly as worn and stained and old as his jacket. He snapped off the elastic that held it shut and flicked his fingers against the three-by-five index cards that were stacked inside. Who still used that shit? Everything about that guy was a little old-fashioned and anachronistic. Rube waved impatiently until the scruffy guy joined them on the pavement that skirted the parking lot.

'Mason, why don't you spend tonight getting the new girl settled in?'

Mason looked to Roxy like someone who would give rather than take shit. He had the smell of an alcoholic about him, the shivery shaking look of a junkie withdrawing, and the shifty eyes of someone who liked to run out on the lunch bill. For all that she'd been dead for what felt like ten minutes and was a bit closer to a week, Roxy was pretty damn sure she could take care of herself better than Mason could. But the cops had found her body. If they'd warned her a few minutes earlier she could've signed her lease over to Rube or Mason, but they hadn't. So her apartment was now clean of her possessions, and her ID and bank account details were somewhere between her filing system and a shredder. Mason, for all that he reeked, seemed to live somewhere.

That, or he got the changes of clothing right off the street. Which, given his smell, might not have been too far from the truth. Guy probably kept all his possessions in a garbage bag. Mason was smiling and saying something about how his place was always open to bright and attractive young ladies. So he had somewhere to live. But he was being a bit too hopeful, both in his tone and in the way his grotty hands were cupped around Roxy's half-bare shoulders. She tried to keep her face as calm as possible as she reached forwards, took his balls in her hand, and gave them a twist that she'd learned halfway through high school from a classmate. Enough to make a point, not enough to bruise or leave a visible mark.

'You are a slimeball, and I am not your young fucking lady. Necrophiliac freak.'

She left Mason making a wheezy high-pitched noise and Rube beside him laughing. Roxy shouldered past them both and into Der Waffle Haus. As she made her way straight for the bathrooms she heard the two men follow her in, Rube still chuckling and seeming to be having a great time of it.

'She's sure got your number, Mason.'

Roxy just pressed on and shoved the doors open. Soon enough she was bent over the bathroom sink with her T-shirt sleeves shoved up to her shoulders and scrubbing with hot water and soap. She wasn't entirely sure that it was Mason's skeezy stinking balls she was washing off of them, either. Her wake was still going out there, somewhere, with that bitch talking to the girls about how they could set up some sort of charity, in memory of her. Maybe a nice tax-deductible percent of leg-warmer sales of a specific design or colour, to go towards a depression hotline or suicide counselling service.

She still had a pair on her legs. Well fuck it. She reached down and pulled them off, shoved them into the hygienic tampon and pad disposal unit, and then rinsed her hands until her skin burned from the soap and all the little fluffy leftovers of her leg-warmers were swimming down the drain. All little bits of crap. Something that was useful, now just shit in a bin or down a drainpipe. She was not upset, not flustered, not half about to cry from fury and despair at the unfairness of things. She knew she wasn't, because she'd always been tough, so she just stared into the mirror at her own undead face and glared at the woman she saw there. That woman looked like she was on the verge of crying or running, and Roxy was sure as fuck not going to put up with that shit.

A toilet flushed, and Roxy winced. She hadn't realised there was anyone in the room, she'd been too wrapped up in her own indulgent bullshit. Roxy straightened her posture, gathered herself, and let go of the faucet she hadn't realised she'd been clutching. She eyed her reflection, glad that it seemed a lot calmer than it had even just a few seconds before.

Then, as a woman with thick curled hair and a swishing skirt walked across to stand at the sink beside her, Roxy realised that she was still invisible to the living. Humans. Mortals. She shivered. Not that she wasn't used to being the odd woman out in a crowd – being black you tended to get 'othered' a hell of a lot more than anyone else in the room – but she'd never seen herself as that distant from the rest of the world. Tougher, maybe. Braver and more stubborn. But not detached.

'Penny for your thoughts, new girl?'

Roxy blinked and leaned backwards, away from the woman. The crazy things people did when they thought they were alone. Like talking to themselves.

'Hello? Little Miss Martha Graham, I can see you, you know?'

Roxy's ears caught up with her brain. Her breath left her in a slow, long whoosh and it was suddenly okay to lean back over the sink and rest her elbows on the porcelain. Roxy stared down at the drainhole and knew that she knew better than to let herself be sick in it. She felt sweaty and nervous and dizzy like vertigo was the new equilibrium.

'So you're one of them. Us. I mean, one of us.'

'Mmhm.' The woman was nice. She seemed to know just how Roxy was feeling, because she'd turned the tap back on in her sink and was using cool damp fingers to pull Roxy's hair back from where it hung into her face.

'I'm Betty, and though I'll miss Atherton a lot, I must say it's nice to have another woman on the team. Would you like me to help you tidy up?'

Roxy's hair was quite messy. She'd been – what was it Rube had said, popped – popped after warmups, and she'd been carrying around that sweat and frizzed mess of a hairdo since her death she supposed. She wasn't sure exactly how long it had been, because she'd been fading in and out of focus. Rube said it was normal, but then what was normal when you'd just become a disembodied soul?

'No, that's fine thanks. I can take care of myself.'

'Of course, I can see that.'

When Betty said it, somehow it didn't sound the same as when Roxy's mom said it, or the others in her dance group. Betty's voice was calm and relaxed and happy. Entirely unfussed about the nervous twitch in Roxy's fingers or how obviously fine she was not. She'd known the woman for all of ten seconds, but Betty seemed to know when 'fine' really meant 'I'm not fine at all, but I have to drag myself out of this one by myself, or I'll never be fine'.

Roxy took a few steadying breaths in, resolutely not thinking about whether ghosts needed lungs or oxygen, and set about putting things in order. She couldn't make herself perfect, but at least she didn't look like she'd just fallen apart in the ladies room. The headband went in the bin with the used tampons and the leg-warmers.

'Are there many more? Rube didn't say, that there were so many of you – us. Us. Am I the only one who can't be seen? Is that a newbie thing, like a probationary period?'

Betty shrugged, curls bouncing over her shoulder as she turned to walk through the door. Roxy followed, if only because she'd probably cry after all if she was left by herself.

'That's one way you could put it, but watch out! Probation's all ready over.'

Betty's warning came one second too late for Roxy to duck out of the way of a man walking past them. His shoulder jarred against Roxy's, and any other day she'd have let him know exactly what she thought of people who didn't watch when they were going. That evening, just feeling the pain of corporeality was a welcome surprise.

'Oops,' Betty said as she slid into a booth beside Rube.

Roxy held her breath and sat beside Mason. 'I don't care if it bruises, as long as I'm not stuck in lycra for the rest of my afterlife.'

Mason looked at her like _she_ was the one who smelled badly. 'Well you're settling in well. Just for once, I'd like to get a newbie who is at a loss, flabbergasted, eager for assistance. None of this world-weary well-adjusted rational-thinking bullshit.'

'Mason, people don't become reapers solely for your entertainment. If they did, I imagine the world would become a very sorry place indeed, given what seems to entertain you.' Rube pulled the index cards out of his organiser and tapped them against the table.

'So, before calls of nature and other obligations distracted us, I was leading up to the education of our new colleague in the skills and information required to harvest souls. On these -'

A watier had arrived. Rube cut himself off and leaned back in the booth, resting an arm along the back of the seat cushion. 'Angelo, hi. Banana Bonanzas and coffee for everyone. It's gonna be a long night.'

Angelo was sweet, in a young and eager kind of way. Young, probably just out of high school, maybe paying his way through college. His hair looked like it was halfway between the haircut his mother must have liked on him and either an afro or dreadlocks. Roxy tilted her head and caught a glimpse of Angelo's keyring. Red-yellow-green, and dreads were the winner. Kid looked like he had all the optimism and peaceful contentment that had been burnt out of Roxy in high school. She figured if he kept his job she'd come to either love or hate him. She could recognise from the way that the others had settled into their seats that this was their regular haunt.

She was getting a bit hysterical, maybe. Shock? If it was an indeterminate amount of time since your death and return to a solid body, could you still be in shock? In any case, she couldn't hold back a snort at the thought of reapers haunting a kitsch themed diner like Der Waffle Haus.

Rube gave Roxy a quick smile. 'You think you're settling in now? Good. Because things are about to get a whole lot more unsettling. This is where we get to the point.'

Rube dealt out three index cards onto the table and as if on cue both Betty and Mason let out little noises of disgust.

'Twice in one day, Rube? I mean, really?' Mason scoffed and turned his nose up at his card.

'And this brings us to an important but meaningful lesson. One that you should have learned years ago. There is no refractory period for death.'

Rube sounded grim. Even though he was smiling, Roxy could sure as hell bet that there were some lessons even seasoned reapers needed to be taught twice. Or ten times. Or however many times so happened to occur in a reaper's, er, lifespan.

'So yes, you got a reap this morning. And yes, you have a reap now. I'm sorry that poor Mr. and Mrs. Espenson cannot reschedule their impending deaths.' Rube turned towards Roxy. 'This is where you pay attention, twinkle toes. Taking a soul will come as naturally as eating, shitting, and sleeping to you. It is now more a part of you than you yourself are. And this is why. Popping the soul out, that spares the person the injuries they end up with from their death. Since we're in External Causes, dealing with the accidental and violent, you can imagine how important that is. You do not fuck this up.'

Roxy was not fine. Roxy's hands were shaking again, so she clasped them together and tucked them into the space between her thighs. Rube was grinning without showing his teeth. Everyone was polite and said their thank-yous as Angelo fumbled and dripped Banana Bonanzas across the table. There was a long and drawn out embarrassing silence as they watched him fetch mugs and pour coffee.

'So, the cards. On them you will find initials, surname, street address or the nearest to, and finally E.T.D. Estimated Time of Death.'

  
Roxy looked down at her card. It read, in order,    
_J. P. Espenson, Room 7 4228 SW Dawson Street, 23:32._   
She stole a glance at Mason's card, which said about the same thing but with an S. and an L. and a few minutes' time difference.   


Betty pursed her lips and waved her card. She had made a bit of a dint in her Banana mess – which Roxy refused to call a Bonanza because she'd had real good Banana Bonanzas in the past and these were nowhere near up to scratch – and left with an apologetic smile to both Rube and her wristwatch.

'No to sharing your first reap with Mason? I don't blame you.'

Rube seemed to be taking his meal slowly. Savouring it. It was wrong.  
'No to everything. I mean, what the _fuck_?!'  


Roxy just wished that Rube would drop the concerned and patient parent act. Even the mad giggle that came out of Mason beside her was preferable.

'Ha-ha! See? I keep telling you, Rube, people these days can't handle the spiel. The concept. If it's not on the telly, they don't think it's real. You gotta surprise them, shock them. Send them on a few reaps buddy-style before they've recovered the brain cells enough to object. See to believe, all that crap.'

Roxy gave up on even trying to eat. She was dead, which was harder to get over than she'd initially thought it would be. This guy, he wanted her to detach the souls from the living for the sake of saving them a bit of a headache. Maybe there was a good reason, maybe there wasn't. But Roxy didn't give a fuck. She was out of there.

'Nobody needs brain cells to know that this shit is fucked up.'

'Hey, hey hey hey.' Rube had raised his hands and was slowly lowering them as if he could gesture Roxy into staying put. It upset her that it kinda worked.

'Look, Roxy. Here's the thing. It is fucked up. But it's fucked up in a way that allows for some human compassion and the amelioration of suffering for countless good people. All I ask is that you go with Mason, you see how it goes. At least find out what you're missing before you walk out of here.'

There was something about the way that Rube said that. It... 'You say that, it makes me think that even if I do walk out of here, something's gonna kick my ass.'

Rube shrugged. 'Maybe it will, maybe it won't. I feel I have a duty of care, I don't let people tempt fate. Think of it like carrying an umbrella. You might not have to do it every day, but if you think it might rain, you do, because the alternative is getting shit all over your nice coat.'

Roxy looked at Mason. 'Seems like we get shit all over our coats even if we do that.'

'Oh come on, honestly!'

Rube nodded meaningfully in agreement with Mason's objection. 'Quite right. You saw Betty's coat, there wasn't a spot on that girl. And when you meet Duane tomorrow you'll see that on the whole reapers are generally tidy. Even Mason is, when he's not grieving departed friends through the medium of acid.'

Mason shuffled down in his seat and his jacket rucked up about his ears. He looked like a little kid trying to hide from a parent. 'M not grieving for that ponce. Wanker. Also? I am clean today.'

'And yesterday? I know you didn't take anything today, because I told you what would happen if you did. Now go, shoo, you're gonna be late.'

Mason winced and grabbed his card in one hand, Roxy's elbow in the other. He was on the inside of the booth, so all he really ended up achieving was shoving sideways into Roxy's personal space. She'd known from the start that Mason was the sort you had to establish ground rules with early and cruelly, or he'd just keep on pushing beyond your boundaries. So she glared at him until one of his eyes twitched. Then she shoved her own card into her pocket and used his hand on her arm to yank him out into the aisle of the restaurant.

'I hope you've got money for a cab, bozo. Cos otherwise you're going to have to give me a piggyback or steal a car. I still don't have proper shoes.'

As the door swung shut behind them, Mason let go of her arm and laughed. 'Reapers can heal from injuries. You could walk until you were worn down to bloody stumps at your ankles, take a day off, and grow them back. Bloody hurts, though.'

Mason led her along the sidewalk and quite thankfully not directly towards Dawson Street but to a bus stop.

'You speak from experience?'

Mason shrugged one shoulder and just let himself collapse down onto the bus stop's bench. 'Is that the most important question you have right now?'

Roxy folded her hands in her lap again. 'Okay. Well what about this for a question? Since we're already on a first name basis, Mason. How did _you_ die?'

Mason froze, and though she'd only known him for a few minutes by her reckoning she was pretty sure she'd hit on a very deep nerve.

'Accidental suicide,' he said after a long silence. '1966.'

'Pretty young for a grim reaper. Is the after-death experience a short one?'

Mason opened his mouth to answer, but the bus pulled up and he scrambled for the coins for two tickets in his jacket pockets.

'Thanks.' Roxy had no pockets or cash on her. She figured that displaying a bit of courteous gratitude might be the only thing between herself and destitute poverty, for however long this thing lasted. She was still a little convinced that this was all a freaky dream, but that was no reason to be rude.

'Huh? Oh, well, you're welcome.'

When they were seated, Mason scratched at his chin. He frowned, seemed to think for a few seconds. When he spoke up Roxy had almost forgotten what they'd been talking about.

'Don't think so. Betty's been around since the 1920s. Duane is... old. Maybe older than that. Rube? Dinosaur. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd reaped Henry the Eighth. You and me, we're the little kiddies. With the little kiddie reap.'

Roxy frowned. 'Kiddie reap?'

'Think about it this way. Later in the evening, people tend to be at home. They're less likely to be walking or running past their place of death. We have a room number, so our pair is not only staying put for the foreseeable future, but we know exactly where they are. They are on a bus route that will only take one transfer to get to. Domestic means probably means a fight or a stupid accident, like sex in a bathtub or the gas left on. Tidy.'

Roxy couldn't prevent her eyebrows from rising until they stretched nearly every muscle in her face. 'Tidy? You think drowning during sex is _tidy?!_ '

'Well compared to something involving knives, cars, explosives, drugs – there's urine and vomit – or gunshots, gang rape, beatings? Yeah, I do. It's quiet, it's clean, it's relatively untraumatic for everyone involved. Even if we can't get in and remove the souls before the event, they won't be any more damaged than you were from your death. Beats crossing over in a puddle of your own gore.'

Roxy felt a little sick, so she kept her mouth and ears shut until after she'd followed Mason onto the second leg of their journey.

'What about Atherton?'

'What about him? Rube's told you the deal, hasn't he? You meet your quota, you get your lights, and the person you reap gets your sucky job. Atherton got his lights early. Let me tell you, Betty was more curious about why he'd gone than that he was. Must be something that comes with age and wisdom.'

'What, sobriety?'

'No. Getting used to people leaving you behind. This is our stop.'

The pavement felt warm and flat beneath Roxy's feet as she followed Mason down the street and up to the entrance to the apartment block. In front of them, a pizza delivery boy who looked even younger than Angelo had was reaching to press the intercom button for number 7. With a wink at Roxy, Mason clapped his hands together and rubbed them against each other.

'That for the Espenson's? We're going in to visit, want us to take it up?'

The kid looked grateful and guilty. He scratched at the stained collar of his uniform shirt. 'I... I've never done this before. Is it okay? You have to pay me, you know...'

Mason smiled, and somehow he seemed all amicability and light warm open happiness. Roxy wondered where the fuck he'd pulled that expression from. What memory or high he was drawing on.  
'Yeah, course it's okay, mate. Absolutely fine. And how much is it, six dollars?'  


'Uh...' The kid fumbled the box trying to get the receipt out of his pocket. Roxy ducked around Mason to help steady it.

'Thanks, lady. Um. It's four fifty. Plus, you know...'

'Right, so six bucks. Here.'

Mason shoved the boy aside and pressed the button again. Without even picking up the intercom, someone in apartment number seven let them in. Mason held the door open for her and they left the flustered kid behind them as they started off down the corridor.

'You're a big spender. Wouldn't have thought it, the way you dress.'

'There is nothing wrong with the way I dress. And anyway, sometimes no matter how skint you are, it's better to pay up than spend an hour buzzing people at random and picking locks. Pizza delivery, it's a god-fucking-send in our line of work. Happens once in a blue moon. This time next week you'll wish you were paying for pizza.'

When they got to the door, they could hear the shouting from inside. Not enough to make out words, but certainly enough to understand that there was a man and a woman and they were pissed off. Roxy took a wary step back. Mason was the guy with experience, so he could deal with the angry people. There would only be a short amount of time in which Roxy could take advantage of her inexperience, and she wasn't going to miss out on that.

Mason knocked. He rang the doorbell with an apologetic grimace. Inside the apartment, everything fell silent.

'Hello? Pizza delivery here.'

There was a muffled and female shriek of disgust and fury. They still couldn't hear the words, but Roxy could imagine what they might be. Along the lines of 'I spent all evening making your dinner, dipshit, and you turn your drunk lazy nose up and order a fucking pizza! How dare you!'

The male voice that bellowed right back probably was saying something like 'I'll do what I want, you bitch, you have no idea what I go through at work. I pay the bills, and I'll eat what I damn well want!'

It almost sounded murderous, but so did a lot of arguments. Roxy's memories of her own murder were probably tainting her perception of the situation. The smile had fallen from Mason's face.

The actual deaths were quiet. There was a shuffling of footsteps and silence. In front of the door Mason fell to his knees and pulled out a set of lockpicks. Inside, there was a gasp and a shriek and then silence. The shouts had been so muffled that the sound of something dripping and splashing on the floor felt strange in Roxy's ears. How could something so quiet be so audible?

There was a breathless choking sound, and the clatter of something plastic or wooden being knocked over. Finally, the lock opened with a polite click and Mason pushed the door open. They couldn't see very much, but Mason was still quick to stand and put a warning hand out in front of Roxy.

'This is fucked up. You know how the reaps you saw with Rube were all clean and neat? This will probably be messy. First we gotta find out which one's which, and then we'll have two ugly poor bastards to chaperone. You need time out, you just say so.'

Roxy had been a little bit on edge before the things she'd heard, but she took a steadying breath and grit her teeth. 'I'm a big girl, I can cope. Not the first time I've seen someone knifed. Or murdered, if my own counts.'

'Well, if you say so.'

He led the way in. The pizza was sweating through the cardboard and sagging over the sides of her palm, so she walked across to the small Formica table and set it down. She looked around the room as Mason knelt down in the kitchen and whispered something. He pulled open a drawer from the sound of it, and... tore off a piece of Saran wrap?

'Mason?'

'Er, no. Don't come through. Your girl's in the bathroom I think. I've got the guy – Simon – covered. Bit messy.'

Roxy was happy to take guidance, let someone else call the shots. She wiped her sweaty palms on her sides and tentatively pushed open the bathroom door. Inside, slumped over the toilet seat with a hand dangling from her shirt collar, was a rough and dumpy looking woman in her mid thirties. Mrs. J. P. Espenson. She was warm to the touch. Roxy ran her hand over her shoulder, and it felt like she was cupping a cigarette in her palm. Smoke rose from the body, but she could tell just from looking that it wasn't part of the physical world. It had a shimmer that couldn't possibly be real. It felt to her, as it passed through her fingers, the same way that the walls of her apartment had when she'd been newly dead and accidentally fallen through them.

She was so caught up in that sensation that she hardly noticed the pale woman who was standing beside her. The spitting image of the corpse on the toilet seat.

'Mrs. Espenson?'

The woman held a hand to her mouth and shook her head. She tried to touch her corporeal self, but her fingers turned into smoke and wispy air as they passed through flesh.

'Mrs. Espenson? I'm here to take care of your soul. This way, please.' It seemed best to sound as officious as she could, until she figured out how the hell to get the woman to her 'lights.'

Roxy had her attention, at least, so she walked back out into the main room.

'It's Julia. Nobody calls me by my last name.'

'I see. Right this way please, then, Julia.'

Mason hadn't wanted her in the kitchen, so Roxy sat down at the table and took a peek in the pizza box. Julia leaned in beside her. It was one of those meat-and-cheese things. No vegetables. The cheese was congealing a layer of sick looking grease. The kid hadn't been a good driver, and the toppings had slid onto the right side of the pizza in a wrinkled lump.

'Man, that is nasty.'

'But not worth the fight we had.' Julia sounded heartbroken. She waved her hands in the air above the disgusting looking mess. 'I mean, we always fight. I never meant to, to...'

Roxy was usually on the ball with things like that, the fingers. That small detail. Blood on her fingers. When Mason straightened up in the kitchen and stretched out his hand to help a bloodstained man stand up, it didn't come as a surprise.

'Oh, Simon!' Julia's voice was full of regret and love and shame and hope.

'Julia! Hey, look at this! Don't worry sweetheart, got myself all patched up with plastic wrap.'

Mason raised his hands and smiled as the two slightly worse-for-wear ghosts clung to each other and to Simon's tightly Saran-wrapped stomach wound. They didn't seem to need to linger like the woman that Rube had reaped had. They just fussed over each other and held on to each other as they walked towards whatever lay beyond. Their beyond looked like two chairs on the beach, umbrellas and those little stupid looking cocktails.

'I'm still so sorry, so sorry.'

'I shouldn't have come up behind you like that, not when we were so angry at each other. It's not your fault.'

Roxy couldn't stay to watch it. If only because with the blood that Simon Espenson was dripping from his ethereal form was almost as sickening as the sight of the food he'd ordered. The thought that what happened to the body also happened to the soul in some irreversible way. She ran into the bathroom, stopped short at the sight of Julia slumped on the toilet, and turned to throw up into the sink. The skin around the outside of her throat burned.

It was a crime scene effectively, so she had to clean up after herself. She helped herself to a fresh toothbrush from the multipack in the cabinet and some toothpaste from the half-empty tube beside the faucet. When she finally turned the water off, she could hear Mason moving about in the other room.

'You brushed your teeth, right?'

'Yeah, so what?'

'So bring it with you. Put it in a wad of paper or something.'

Roxy thought that stealing from the dead was a bit beyond the pale. She knew the shitty type of people who did it, her old roommate included, and she had better taste than that.

'It's different, you know.  From what happened to you. I know you're thinking it, read up all about your death, we did. Standard background check.'

Mason spoke in short sentences because he was eating the pizza.

'That's disgusting!'

'Oh come on, I fucking well paid for it, didn't I? And you don't have a job, do you. Or a place to stay. So stock up, pack yourself a bag of useful stuff. Little here, a little there. Bar of soap, toothbrush, hairbands. Socks. Dry socks are always a good choice.'

'I meant the pizza. It seems inedible.'

Roxy didn't want to come across as stupid. She knew she wouldn't be able to go back to where she lived, or access her bank account without causing some serious problems. But something inside her baulked at the idea of taking anything from there. It was worse that their deaths, though in anger, were really just accidental. There was no bad guy, no reason or explanation. Just two tired bickering people in the wrong place at the wrong time.

'So,' Mason kept on chewing, 'too quick for most pills to work. Was it suicide?'

'Heart attack. Her fingers were,' Roxy gestured around her chest, 'like she was clutching at her heart. And don't chew with your mouth full.'

'You're gonna have to get a whole lot older before you get to boss me around.'

Roxy just looked at him. _Don't give him an inch_ , she told herself.

  
'Er, Ma'am. Anyway, you should eat up. You can sleep on my couch, but I haven't got any food to share with you. Those pancakes won't last you long at all.'   


Roxy stuck her tongue out at the pizza and held her nose as she picked her way carefully around the bloodstained body in the kitchen. She was going to have to toughen up to live properly and there was a perfectly good square meal on the counter just going to waste.

'Oh now that's just not fair. I didn't get such a good dinner my first night's work!'

It was strange to be hungry so soon after how sick she'd felt in the bathroom, but that must just be part and parcel of being a reaper too. Whatever it was, Roxy savored the meal. Not just the food but the time and effort that had gone into it. She cut into her steak and waved a bit on the end of her fork in Mason's face.

'Yeah, and I bet you didn't do half as good a job as I did either. I bet you were still off your face when Rube took you on your first reap.'

'What makes you think it was Rube, hey?'

'What do you mean? Of course it was Rube. Who else could've put up with you? How did you die, anyway?'

Mason put his half-finished slice of pizza down and slammed the box shut. 'Come on, let's finish up here. Don't want to miss the last bus.'

They shut the apartment door behind themselves. Mason carried the box of pizza and a bag of towels and pillowcases. Roxy had a small backpack with some toiletries, socks, a hairbrush and nail clippers and some cutlery and anything else she figured might be too unwashed and dirty looking at Mason's place. They sat surrounded by the living who were mostly on their way to shift work or to a late night out somewhere. All those lives. All those souls and accidents just waiting to happen. As the lights of the city slipped past the windows of the bus Roxy decided that it probably wasn't a dream. She could live with that.   
****

**  
Rube   
**

The second full day that Roxy was a reaper, things made a bit more sense. She wasn't technically dead, so much as perhaps someone upstairs had decided that her warranty hadn't expired yet. She'd been upgraded to a slightly better model, but of course now there were all sorts of things hanging over her head. Contract stipulations. Oh, how Mason had waxed poetical the night before on the subjects of poverty, homelessness and the pain of kidney stones. She was curious enough to hear him out, but she did have to pinch him by the ears at 3am and shove him into his squalid looking bedroom before she could get some rest.

Sleep was really good. She'd sworn off dancing because she couldn't face it, but she woke up feeling refreshed. Like she'd spent the whole day before in movement, worn herself out in that good stretchy feeling way, and slept a deep and healing full night's worth. Given the long and harrowing day she'd had, she'd expected to sleep far worse. As it was she was up bright and early and waiting with distinct boredom for Mason to get up. There was a small stand that looked like it had supported a TV once. Maybe even a VCR. She supposed they'd been pawned. She didn't like to entertain the alternative, that the cheap place Mason lived in was easy to break into. A glance at the front door didn't show any signs of violent entry.

  
After about ten minutes of looking around the room she got bored and went to wake Mason up. He even woke up in a mess, arms jerking and a leg falling off the side of the mattress. He blinked up at her blearily. Then he rolled onto his side, fell further off the bed and hit his forehead on an alarm clock.   


'Oh fucking fuck fuckitty balls on a stick.'

'Are you always this eloquent in the mornings? Because if you are, I may have to reconsider my grand plan to find an apartment that doesn't smell like unwashed junkie.'

  
'No, seriously, I mean,    
  
_fuck_   
  
. We're supposed to meet back at that Der Waffle Haus in half a bloody hour. Do you know how slow the buses get, this time of day? They pick up and let off about half a dozen fucking schoolkids at every stop.'   


Mason rolled himself onto the floor and pushed himself up off it in a move that must have been perfected while drunk. It had that staggering and graceless grace about it. Mason was a guy who moved very inefficiently. But at least he was on his feet and moving, which was more than Roxy could say for some of the guys she'd seen trying to wake up. 

While she brushed her teeth in a rush in the bathroom and washed her face with her recently purloined washcloth, Mason did whatever he did in the mornings. It didn't seem to involve any cleanliness. They met at the door and he handed over a pair of too-large ratty old sneakers.

'They won't really fit, but in the bright light of day someone will notice your scabby socks and that is the way of denial of service my dear.'

  
Roxy anchored them around her ankles with the laces as best as she could. She couldn't do a very good job of it. The left shoe almost disintegrated on her. 'You've got money, and don't think I didn't see you emptying the Espensons' wallets last night. You should just buy me some shoes, if you're supposed to be taking care of me.'   


'Oh, come on! I've put you up. I've shepherded you around this good city. I've gifted upon you some shoes that were very nice ten years ago.'

They ran down the street and caught the goddamn bus before the apartment door had finished slamming shut behind them.

'Rube doesn't like it when we coddle newcomers and transfers. Says that it builds character and discourages parasite behavior.'

'I'm sure he just loves it when you run late and don't reap the souls in time.'

Mason paid for her fare with a childish pout on his face. They didn't feel the need to speak for the rest of the trip.

When they got to Der Waffle Haus there were Rube and Betty sitting down alongside a large smiling black man who introduced himself as Duane and shared a small secret smile with Roxy. 'It's good to know that death's got a better equal employment opportunity plan than most places, isn't it?'

'A what?' Mason asked as he brushed past Roxy and slid himself into the booth.

'Nothing, nevermind.'

  
Roxy had only just settled in when Rube started dealing out the index cards. They were slapped down onto the table, and then a cheap looking cardboard shoebox was dropped onto the table in front of Roxy.   


'Put those hideous things in the trash so that I can enjoy my breakfast in peace.' Rube waved a hand at Roxy's feet and she gratefully rushed to comply.

'Coddling my ass.'

She found a pair of clean new socks shoved in amongst the new laces and crumpled bits of paper. It was heaven to peel off the grime and mess that she'd already begun to forget was there. She didn't like how quickly her wardrobe might be growing to resemble Mason's.

When she had packed the offensive ratty sneakers into the box and kicked it out of sight, she sat back up. Rube had a hand waiting for her, held up in the air like a barrier and a warning. 'I do not need or care to know what happened last night. No apologies, explanations, or excuses please. From anyone.'

Duane reached around Mason, squashing up into the spindly guy, to put a comforting hand on Roxy's shoulder. 'Don't worry, we won't leave you in Mason's place tonight. At the very least I've got the floorspace for you.'

A waitress arrived and brought mugs for everyone. Coffee was poured and drunk. Already there was a routine establishing itself in Roxy's head. Go to diner. Drink coffee. Wisecrack. Dislodge souls. Go to diner. Occasionally, sleep.

'All right. Everyone else, shoo. Roxy, you're with me today. Stay.'

'But I haven't had any breakfast, and I-'

'You heard me the first time Mason, shoo.'

Roxy had to get up for Mason and Duane to shoo, so she found a trashcan and threw out her previous pair of shoes. She felt pretty good. She was moving up in the world. First socks, then old shoes, then new. She'd be finding herself somewhere to live in no time at all.

If Mason was all wasted energy in his gestures and movements, then Rube was the complete opposite. Not that Rube sat still. He used his hands and arms and whole body when he spoke. Rube simply used every bit of energy – every expression and gesture and even his posture – as a means of communication. From what Roxy had seen, at least. Maybe having another few days with Rube would show her some clumsiness or fidgety twitching, but for the moment Roxy felt like she trusted Rube more than anyone she'd met in years.

'So how do you like your eggs?'

Roxy would have answered, but she knew this was more than a simple inquiry into her personal preferences. He was asking what to order for her for breakfast. Though she was a little hungry, she had more important things to worry about.

'Not that I'll ever say no to a free meal, but if you're donating money to the upkeep of my undead ass, I'd prefer cash. I've heard I can go without food, but unless I get myself some different clothes I stand no chance of finding any work.'

'That a fact? Well in my experience, young lady, someone offers you breakfast you say thank you or no thank you and leave it at that. If you need to borrow some money to make yourself presentable, you can ask for it politely. There's no need for ultimatums. I know all about the situation that you're in right now.'

Rube was smiling a little, but Roxy could tell from the set of his jaw and the way his hands were set solidly down beside each other on the table that she was being told off. Chastised. She couldn't stand to watch him, so she turned to look into the kitchen at the early morning rush inside.

'So, how do you like your eggs?'

'Ah, scrambled is fine.'

For something to do, Roxy read the index card she'd been given while Rube waved the waitress – Casey – over and ordered food. It wasn't due until three in the afternoon. Roxy could live with that. In the suburbs, though, so it would take a bit to get to the place. She'd need some cash or a prepaid ticket.

'Why do you use these old things anyway? I mean, are we supposed to keep a card catalog of everyone we reap?'

'Of course not. I manage the paperwork. These are just convenient, to carry on a person.'

'They damn well poke into my hip, is what they do. Why can't you just use a notepad or something, just tear off pages we can fold up?'

'Because,' Rube leaned back to leave space for his plate on the table. Make that plates. With juice. 'Because people tend to lose small bits of paper. An index card, now that's something important and that people won't just crumple up or throw away. Convenient and visible, not so easy to misplace or mistake for anything else.'

'That may be so, but they still don't fit in my pocket comfortably. Why don't you just use Post-its, if you want something visible or important?'

Rube finished chewing his mouthful before he answered. 'Why don't I just use what?'

'Post-its. You know, those small pads of bright yellow paper with the sticky bit on the back? People use them to make notes that stand out? Easy to adhere and peel away from paperwork and daily planners?'

Rube's completely blank look answered all of her questions. He did not know.

'They aren't so new that you _can't_ have heard of them, are they?'

'Roxy, reaper work is old work. Think older than Gutenberg.'

'Older than who?'

Rube winced and chased whatever thought he was having down with some orange juice. 'I am just referring to the invention of the printing press and typesetting. When I do my cataloging, I do it with a fountain pen in a blank ledger. When I copy out the reaps, I do it on index cards.'

'Index cards ain't that old, and –'

'Aren't,' Rube interrupted her. 'Don't use bad English.'

'Fuck you. I'll use whatever language I want. I can't believe I thought you'd be better company than Mason.'

Roxy cut into her toast, shoved her eggs on top of it so hard they smushed past her fork and out the other side. They ate in silence for a while, and it wasn't comfortable at all.

'Being killed by someone doesn't make you a weak or vulnerable person, and I am sure as hell not responsible for your death. There is nobody to get even with here, and you don't need to try to prove your strength by butting your horns up against everyone you meet. Just enjoy your breakfast, and then let's get on with our day.'

Rube was right, but Roxy didn't like that at all. Because admitting he was right would mean admitting she'd allowed that bitch to make her feel threatened and weak. That she'd lost something with her death, more than a business venture and her dancing career. So she just kept on eating in silence, washing the bitter taste of lost pride out of her mouth with gulps of slightly burnt coffee.

Rube had a car. She'd sorta known it because he'd headed out to the parking lot after her funeral and everything, but she'd been focused on other things at the time, like the way you could still see the bruises under the makeup on her corpse. How her grandmother had clung to her uncle and let out this long, shuddering moan. No tears, just this moan like her soul had been ripped straight out through her gut. Okay, now that Roxy knew what that sounded like, perhaps not. But certainly like she was being gutted.

'So what do I do about my identity? I mean, I know I can't walk around calling myself by my real name. So how do I get a job, somewhere to live?'

Rube shrugged. 'I can get you papers, through upper management, when you've picked a new name for yourself. You'd be surprised how many places never check references, birth certificates, actual paperwork. Regardless as soon as you pick a false name, they'll send the stuff out. Comes in a big yellow envelope paper-clipped to the back of the list of reaps. I don't have to ever find out what it is, though it can be useful if I ever need to stop by your workplace.'

They were on one of those long, straight roads heading towards the city. The people on foot seemed to be stationary even though you could tell they were walking. Concrete and trees and streetlights and people cycled like they were playing in a loop.

'Just don't pick anything too noticeable like Minnie Mouse or Clint Eastwood.'

'I think I have more self respect than that.'

'Good.'

Rube pulled into a multi-storied parking lot, parked on the fifth level. Roxy unbuckled her seatbelt and got out. She stretched a little and looked out across the rows of cars. 'So we're going shopping then?'

'What?'

'There's a mall attached to this parking lot.'

Rube scratched at his eyebrows and then took a good long look around the cars himself. 'No. No, the address is for this place.'

Roxy couldn't believe she'd been so stupid as to think they were doing anything other than business in the city. 'All right. Are they due anytime soon?'

'Half an hour. But a place like this? I'd rather find them early than risk someone falling four stories or being run over with their soul still in there.'

Rube began walking slowly, scanning the area for who knew what. Roxy tried to guess. People in cars. Ramps up and down, tight corners, the entrance to the mall and to the emergency fire staircase. Maybe even the pay machines. She sauntered along behind him, wishing she was experienced enough to be useful. Though gaining experience was probably the reason she'd been brought along.

'I've been wondering about that. Last night, the guy who got accidentally knifed by his wife? Mason wrapped his guts up in plastic before he reaped the guy. What the hell was up with that?'

'Well, you may have noticed that when your soul is reaped you retain the physical attributes you had when you were liberated from your body. It's why your throat isn't bruised, and why if you get there too late or just are unlucky like you were last night, you end up with souls all cut up or bruised or burnt. Plastic's a good fix for a gut wound, it means that the departing soul doesn't have to hold their entrails in their hands while they try to find their lights.'

They took the stairs up to the top floor and stood in the gray cloudy sunlight as wind whipped their hair around.

'Mason might be a fuck-up sometimes, but he's got this compassion and pragmatism that makes him a very good reaper when he wants to be. Lot of lessons you can learn from him when he's in good form. Just don't expect to see him in good form anytime soon.'

Roxy leaned against the concrete wall that separated thin air from all the cars and humans. She watched the patterns in the traffic and pedestrians on the street below. 'There's a lot of people alive out there.'

'Yeah, and every one of them is going to die. But us? We do accidental and violent deaths. There aren't as many of them as it seems there are. Don't forget that. Most of those people out there will die old, slowly, warm in bed.'

'That would actually be comforting if most of them weren't dying of dementia and AIDS.'

Rube shrugged. 'I'd have rather lived another decade or two, died of that, than the way that I went. Come on, I don't think it's gonna happen up here.'

Roxy followed, feeling more and more like a child. Maybe it was asking all the questions and feeling out of her depth like it was first grade all over again. Maybe it was just because Rube seemed older than dirt, and compared to that you couldn't help but feel young and undeveloped.

'No? Not a jumper, then?'

'Hardly anyone jumps with this many cars around. In the middle of the city, in the middle of the day? Jumpers tend to get noticed and talked down from it. We're looking for something else.'

They scouted out the other levels of the place. On the second level from the ground, there was a section in one of the concrete barriers facing onto the street below that was cracked and battered. It looked half from age and half from a series of terrible parking jobs. Like someone had pulled into the space every day too fast and too wide to avoid making a dent in their car.

'I still think it's the jumper.'

'You don't get paid to think.'

'I don't get paid at all.'

'Get a day job.'

The space was empty, and Rube walked into it. He leaned up through the gap that let in air and light, and stared out and down. Then he seemed to relax. He stepped back, brushed the concrete dust off of on his trousers, and joined Roxy where she'd been waiting for him a few cars down the row.

'That's it. We've got twenty minutes, but it's down at street level, I reckon. Let's go.'

When Roxy looked back to try and see what Rube had – structural integrity, say, or perhaps some special reaper clue to things – she noticed this hunched and creepy looking gray thing snooping around the empty parking space and snickering.

'What the fuck –'

'That's what we call a Graveling. They show up here and there, around the soon to be departed. Don't ask why because there's no confirmation of any sorts to be had. Every reaper develops their own theories after a while. Give it a few months, and I'll be interested in yours.'

The street wasn't too busy. The sidewalk wasn't very crowded. Rube showed Roxy his index card, and they both started keeping their ears open for anyone called Jarvey, or whose first name began with a B.

Three minutes before the E.T.D. a tradesman's van turned into the car park entry and squealed to an abrupt stop before the boom gate. The van was battered, bruised, rusting and had a ladder strapped to the roof with old fraying nylon ropes. There was no way it fell under the maximum height, because the ladder slammed into the hanging clearance sign with a loud bang. Roxy could hear it screeching and fumbling around the ramps and the second level a little faster than it should have been. 

A young man with dark hair was walking along towards them. He carried a sandwich and a coffee. He wore a suit and a smile and was probably on an early lunch or something. There was a disgusting bounce in his step.

'It's a lovely day today,' Rube called out. The man stopped and grinned happily at Rube. Roxy bit her lip and tried not to bitch about how picture perfect the world was for entitled white bastards with guaranteed employability. His happiness made her stomach turn.

'It is indeed! I know it's a bit weird, but can you keep a secret?'

Rube leaned in towards the man conspiratorially. 'Sure I can.'

'Well,' the guy was so excited his lungs seemed about to burst with every breath he took, 'I just had a breakthrough in my research. I think I've got enough data to push for a better funding grant, and I'll be able to keep working on this. It's, well, it's to do with the prevention of malaria. It's just... so big, and I might really be able to help make a difference!'

All right, Roxy was able to admit when she'd judged a man too quickly. Now she just felt awful and guilty. Rube was grinning right back at the man and nodding, shaking his hand, projecting joyfulness and pride and acceptance.

'Since I'm keeping this a secret, what's your name? Who should I keep an eye out for in the news, when you get your big breakthrough?'

'Jarvey. Ben Jarvey. And thank you. I know it's a bit unprofessional to just come up to people on the street, but I really can't keep it inside. It's too overwhelming!'

Rube laughed and shook his head. He held a hand out and clasped Ben Jarvey's in his own, leaned forward to clap the man on the shoulder. 'Joyous moments are supposed to be shared. I'm glad that I got to share this one with you.'

When Rube drew back, he took the soul. Jarvey's smile faltered, he seemed a bit confused or unsettled. But he was still elated looking. He turned his head up to stare at the sky. Roxy did it too, to try and see what he saw up there. The wind pushed and pulled and the skies were full of an energy she'd never seen before. Roxy wondered if maybe there was such a thing as heaven, physically as well as metaphysically like with the lights the souls walked into.

Rube shook Roxy by the shoulder, and she looked back down to earth. The city felt small and cramped compared to the space that was up there in the sky. She let Rube guide her backwards and away a few steps. There was a whine and scream of tires and a heavy thud of a car against concrete. Small cracks appeared in the wall of the car park. Chunks of rubble fell down, but the wall held shakily together.

Then there was a snapping tired sound, and the ragged end of a piece of nylon rope fluttered out. A steel ladder slid out through the small gap and fell neatly downwards. It didn't hit Jarvey on the head, but lower. At the base of his neck, on his collarbone. There was a sharp cracking noise that was far quieter than the clatter that the ladder made when it fell to the ground on top of Jarvey.

His corpse all crumpled up at his feet, Ben Jarvey's soul stared up at the sky with wide open eyes. They looked like they were tearing up, and for a second Roxy thought they were maybe tears of grief. Then he turned to look back at her and Rube and smiled beatifically.

'I did it. It doesn't matter who does the testing, because the groundwork's there, they'll get the funding... It's not anything visible or noble, but I made a very big difference.'

He didn't need any guiding or conversation. It was something Roxy would think back on with wistful hope later in her life, because most people just couldn't accept death, didn't want to move on quite yet. They needed explanations and directions. Jarvey simply turned away from them, took one more look at the sky, and walked off into the iridescent blue outlines of a research laboratory.

'Let's get a coffee somewhere,' Rube said, 'and maybe do some shopping.'

'What?' Roxy's mind was lagging a bit behind on it all.

'Well I imagine that when emergency services arrive, it'll fuck up traffic in the area. Not worth the pain trying to get the car out for at least half an hour. We've got time before your one, anyway.'

Roxy bit her lip and decided that then was as good a time as any to ask.

'Actually, Rube, I was wondering. May I borrow some money from you? I'll pay you back as soon as I get a job, I promise. It's just... I've only got the two pairs of underpants, and there aren't many jobs I can go to an interview for wearing, well, this.'

Rube sucked in a breath and nodded slowly. 'That'll be fine. But I'm only going to give you a twenty. I'm surprised you didn't ask before now.'

Roxy kept her lips resolutely shut. It was not going to ever be the right time to confess to Rube that she'd had Mason break into her old place and liberate some souvenirs of her life. That she had a few bits of clothing and a box of mementos of her life and death that she couldn't quite bring herself to open.

'Thanks. Really. This means a lot to me.'

'Sure it does.' The tone in Rube's voice made Roxy a little scared that he knew anyway, somehow. Secret reaper-boss ESP or some shit. He pressed the note into Roxy's hand with warm dry fingers and a knowing smile. 'I'll wait for you near the ice-cream parlor on the second floor.'

'Right. Thanks.'

They separated at the doors, Rube going off to do god knew what. Roxy made her way past the nice shops and into K-mart. She knew her size, so she just grabbed the basics; jeans, t-shirts, one nice shirt. She made sure they fit, then made her way towards the checkouts. On the way, she walked past a discount display table. Post-it notes, in bulk. She would have enough to get one packet. It was a gift for Rube, but it really was for the betterment of Reapers everywhere. 

**  
Betty   
**

Work was shitty, but Roxy had learned her lesson her first night on the job. Access is everything. Working in pizza delivery didn't pay very well, and she'd lied about her age on her paperwork, pretending to be far younger than she was, but the job came with a crappy company car she could use on shift. It also came with flexible hours and a uniform that could get her into nearly any building in the city. She deliberately picked one of those huge and cheap franchises for that very reason. Nearly universal recognition and acceptance, all thanks to a cardboard box, a polo shirt and a baseball cap. Mason swore by drugs, Betty and Rube by careful investment options, and Duane by travel agency consulting, but Roxy figured with her self respect and base bank balance of zero those options just weren't open to her.

She still hated smelling like pizza dough and cheese, though. Sitting down in the morning in a clean uniform with the coffee and maple syrup cutting through the memory of those scents from the night before was as close to heaven as Roxy got. The mattress in her cheap rental reeked of her work from when she was too tired to shower before bed. If it had been a nice mattress in the first place she might have been able to bring herself to care. As it was, she was just happy she'd got somewhere she could keep tidy and private and separate from the things she faced during the day.

It was getting harder to keep them apart. The easy nights she'd had early on in her life as a reaper were disappearing, being replaced by long recurring nightmares and vivid dreams. Half the time she woke up more tired than she'd gone to bed, and some nights she was up watching early morning television and just wishing that fatigue would overcome her fear of the things that came after her in the night. Gravelings carrying socks and scissors, wrapping things tight around her neck until she suffocated. The sensation of the souls coming away from their fleshy bodies but instead of passing on just sticking to her, crowding around her in a smoky mist until she choked on them. Never able to die, just choking forever.

'Does anyone ever lose themselves to the job?'

Mason flapped a hand around. Roxy had become more fluent in Mason's body language over the months, and what she'd have passed off as a restless tic at the start was quite obviously his way of saying 'I drowned in this shit a long time ago, isn't it obvious you nutter?'

Duane frowned in that serious way he had and toyed with a toothpick in his fingers. 'I've had a few rough patches but everyone goes through those. You learn to adjust. I think it's partly why reapers work in groups like this. We are the backup system for when people break down.'

'Oh like therapy? Rube will be pissed to hear that he's our designated psychotherapist.' Betty looked up from her nails. 'It's really a case of knowing who you are. Your personality and sense of self. If you don't know who you are, it's easy to get lost in it all. I've seen it happen, believe me.'

Roxy thought about it. 'I think I'm a vengeful sort of person, deep down inside. One who likes a sense of justice, and exacting that justice.'

Mason snorted and tore open a packet of sugar. 'No shit.'

Roxy slapped him in the chest with the back of her hand. 'I mean it. I think my main problem is adjusting to how arbitrary all these deaths are. Even when the souls accept it and move on, I can't.'

Rube showed up and made Roxy shift over so that he could sit down. 'Justice is an arbitrary line in the sand, children. No fairness in justice, you gotta draw that line somewhere and either people end up in unjust situations or you don't have any line and society suffers. We sacrifice making actual sense to get the benefit of a functioning system. I'm sure that those fellows upstairs base their rules on a similar concept.'

To Angelo, who was standing there with a slightly confused smile, Rube said, 'Eggs over easy, please, hash browns and some bacon on the side. Extra crispy, you know how I like it. And a chocolate milk if you wouldn't mind.'

'Still don't like it.' Roxy made a face at Mason, who was pouring sugar packets into his mouth. That was the last anyone said of the subject for the whole meal.

'What do you do, outside of working and reaping anyway, Roxy? What are your hobbies?'

She could tell that Duane meant well, the way he was smiling and speaking in that soft accommodating tone of his, but any mention of leisure activities just brought her right back to the cause of her own death.

'I don't really do much. I'm taking on a lot of shifts, trying to save up.' That should be enough to end that conversation.

'Even so, you should make sure you have something fun in your life.' Duane looked like he was about ready to reach across the table and embrace Roxy in a big sympathetic hug. It made the fingers of her left hand curl into a fist. She was not in a hugging mood.

'Maybe. Rube? Can I have my reap now?'

Rube grumbled about rushing a good breakfast, but he got up so they could engage in the booth seat rotation shuffle and snapped open his organizer. He was getting quicker and more comfortable with peeling the Post-its off their main stack, there were very few tears or wrinkles in them that week. Roxy took it without reading it, threw enough cash to cover her bill onto the table and walked out the door.

She needed something. Space. She could feel the frantic energy building up inside her and threatening to fill her lungs. She needed to dance, but she couldn't. It wasn't just her promise to herself, it was this block in her head and her heart. She knew if she tried to lift her feet or her arms they would be heavy and clumsy and incapable.

She checked her Post-it. It was somewhere she hadn't been before, but close enough to walk. It wasn't till the evening though. Roxy wondered if evenings were normally when people died, or if there'd just been an unusual frequency of stupid exhaustion-related accidents since her own death. She didn't have any shifts because it was the weekend and all the cheaper teen labor was out of school and available.

She wandered without aim or direction down the side of the street. She could scope the place out early, figure out whether she'd be able to find her reap early on or if she'd have to come up with an excuse to get in there. It was occupying her mind enough that she didn't realize Betty was following her until there was a slender hand on her shoulder and a brush of unruly curls against her ear.

'So, what've you got?'

'Huh? Oh, M. Brown, 2923 Northeast Blakeley Street, six forty-five.'

'In that case you can help me with mine. They're on the outskirts of town a little after lunchtime, and it's a boring drive alone. I'll drop you off at yours when we're done if you like?'

'Sure.' It was better than being alone with her own thoughts. 'Thanks.'

Betty's car was old enough that you could feel the road beneath you and the movements of the car, well maintained enough that the wind didn't whistle through the small cracks. As they moved from the city to the suburbs the skyline got lower and the little bits of green beside them got larger.

'So, you really think you're like the Kindly Ones?'

'The who?'

Betty's hair was pretty well behaved for something that looked that bouncy. Roxy wondered if it was a white genetic thing, or if there was maybe some product that might help with her own.

'The Kindly Ones. The Furies. Those women in Greek mythology who seek vengeance.'

'Don't know them, I can't really say. But I think so, yes. I think that I had a pretty strong sense of what was right and wrong before I died, and since my death, well, yeah. I think I'm furious.'

Betty frowned, twisted her lips up and to the side. 'Still, I don't think that's all of you. I went with Atherton, he took your soul at the dance hall, before you went home, just in case. I saw you dancing, and...'

'And nothing. You know I've made it clear that's not a part of me anymore. If you'd told me this was going to be the happiness patrol, I wouldn't have got in the car.'

Betty tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. 'I'm... it's not. I didn't mean for that.'

'Yeah, well.' Roxy turned to look out the window, curling her shoulder around so her back was half towards Betty.

'You should try to find work as a teacher or a cop. You're good at making yourself look big and at putting up walls.'

Roxy didn't like Betty for exactly the same reason that she'd liked her when they'd first met. Betty had this way of seeing her, somehow. All the bits that Roxy didn't want anyone else to see, and the posturing and walls she put up. Roxy had toyed idly with those ideas herself, because if she lived indefinitely she had an indefinite amount of time to accumulate skills and an indefinite amount of potential for work and life. Because she liked the idea of laying down the rules and being vindicated and right and in power to prevent shit like what had been done to her. The sarcasm and bitter edge to Betty's voice just made Roxy feel like her idle daydreams were small and self-serving and petty.

'You should be a psychologist, you know so much about how people work.'

It was a cheap shot, and they both knew it. Betty had the grace to hold back a retort where Roxy hadn't. The rest of the trip passed in silence.

Betty pulled up in front of a house that looked like it had been built within the last ten years. It had all the failings of architecture of the 1970s and a repaint had given it the worst colour schemes of the 80s. The grass in the yard was half-dead and there were little signs in the rest of the garden that whoever lived in the house was probably too busy paying off their mortgage to take care of the place.

'You can wait in the car, I won't be long.'

Roxy waited for a few seconds until after Betty had slammed the door shut and started heading towards the house before she said 'Fuck that shit,' and headed after her. It must've been a really quick reap, because by the time Roxy had made it up to the front porch Betty was closing the door behind her and sitting down on the steps.

'You done?'

Betty smiled, but there was a sadness in the corners of her eyes. 'Nearly. Just have to wait for the dearly departed.'

Roxy took that as her cue to sit down on the steps beside Betty. She couldn't stay still for long, though. That energy came bubbling back up inside her. The tension. She tried to control it by letting her leg jiggle.

'I'm not trying to push your buttons, you know. I can just see that you're not the brick wall type deep down inside, for all that you want to be. You have to be fluid, Roxy. You need movement to feel free.'

'And you're suddenly an expert on me?'

'Let's just say... I'm an amateur psychologist. I've been watching people die my whole life. Since before I died, even. A person learns things from that. I've learned enough to be able to recognise when someone needs a physical outlet. I'm a bit like that myself, restless inside.'

Whatever the cause of death for Betty's reap was, Roxy was actually glad it was taking a while. It was nice to be in the outer suburbs. To have the sounds of living and humans just that little bit further away.

'I know. I know you've all got years on me. I just hate being the goddamn fucking child.'

'I know.'

'And if I can't be who I was – because if I'm still who I was, I _will_ end up becoming one of those angels of fury–'

'Ancient goddesses.' Betty corrected her.

'Whatever. I'll end up like them. So I've got to become someone else. Different. I have to change.'

Betty scratched behind one of her ears and turned her head. Roxy craned her neck to see what she was looking at. A tired and exhausted looking man in a rumpled shirt and a pair of jeans stood in front of the doorway looking down at them.

'Is it over?'

Betty nodded. 'Yes, it's over. You can go where you like now.'

That didn't seem to calm the man down at all. 'But what about the mortgage? The child support? How will I...'

'Don't worry.' Betty reached up to take the man's hand in hers. 'It's all been taken care of. Do you know where you have to go, now?'

He looked at Roxy, then back to Betty for a long moment. 'No. I mean, yes. I know where I want to be. Where I'm going.'

He let go of her hand and turned around. The shape of the house – the doors, windows, every last brick – was outlined in bright blue. The door swung open, and through the solid wood of the real door Roxy could see a tidy well-kept hallway. The man smiled, reached a hand out to steady the door as he walked into the house. Roxy and Betty watched as he dissolved into bright lights and the ethereal house faded like a soft sigh.

Betty dusted her hands on her knees and stood up. She held a hand out to Roxy. 'See? He was someone who was supposed to stay still, and he just kept on running around. It's a bad way to live. Promise me you'll try?'

They walked back to the car. 'I can't be that person anymore.'

Betty rested her elbows on top of the car and grinned. 'Roxy, there's more than one way to move. You of all people should know that.'

'I...' Roxy didn't know how to respond to that so she just got in the car. Of course she knew that. She'd just never thought that any other type of exercise or movement was necessary. Not when she had the rhythm and music of dancing. Anything else seemed to pale in comparison. Even now that she'd made her choice, drawn her own lines in the sand, had left her dancing behind her with her mortal body, she still couldn't really imagine doing anything else.

'So where's your reap?'

Roxy told her. Off they went, rewinding through the suburbs. They travelled slower as they caught up with the early end of rush hour and the closer spacing of the traffic lights and intersections. The afternoon was a little hazy, and the sun-warmed feeling that had gotten into Roxy's skin while she was sitting on that porch just seemed to stick around just beneath the surface.

'You don't have to worry about me. You've got your own shit to be getting on with.'

'Mn.' Betty turned the car into the small car park out the back of a building that was signposted as being an A-grade Martial Arts Dojo. 'I know.'

'Fuck you. Did you know this was where my reap was?'

'Of course I didn't. Neither of us had that information.'

Roxy shoved the door on her side open and braced her feet on the asphalt beside the car. 'But Rube knew. He knows more than he lets on, I know he does. He knew and he sent you after me, didn't he?'

'He didn't, actually. He might have been going to, for all I know. But I honestly did want your company. Even if we are different enough that we can't hold a civil conversation.'

At that Roxy relaxed. She kicked her heels carefully against the side of the car beneath her. 'Maybe it'll get better once we get to know each other.'

'Maybe. Can I come in with you?'

Roxy squinted at the black and white sign, with blue and red accents. What was it with martial artists and those colours? Half the films and signs in the world had that shit on them, or flames. It was a kind of culture that felt a little alien to Roxy.

'Sure, why not.'

They made their way in, followed the pertinent signs until they found the training room. Students were milling about in a mix of uniforms and baggy pants and loose shirts like what half of Roxy's old wardrobe had been full of. Comfortable things that allowed for movement. She wanted to walk right in and start milling around, trying to find her reap. But Betty had caught her arm and was heading along the edge of the room. They stopped in front of a small low table at which a musclier and in-charge looking guy sat checking off a list of names. He looked up and smiled.

'Hello. Are you curious new students?'

'She is.' Betty patted a hand on Roxy's shoulder.

'Hi. I'm ah, Cathy.' She gave her fake name quite happily. 'I've never been anywhere like this before.'

The man smiled. 'I'm Max. Why don't you join us for this lesson? See what you make of it. First one's always free.'

'Uh, sure. Sounds good.'

'So, just put your details here? And you don't mind, we use surnames here. It's part of the discipline and a sign of respect. We use a fusion of various styles, but we like to keep some things traditionally structured.'

'Sure thing.' Roxy wrote down the name she'd chosen, Espenson after her toothbrush. She hadn't had any other bright ideas at the time and it had worked so far for her. She put her shoes in the big pile near the door and within minutes she was stretching out her legs. It was a little different, but familiar enough. Her stretching partner was pretty impressed with how flexible she was, and Roxy couldn't keep herself from grinning right back. It was different because half the room was full of white uniforms. It was the same, a bunch of people focused on their breathing and their movement. Understanding themselves and each other in a way that Roxy had thought only dancers really could.

Running around in a circle wasn't anything new or exciting. It seemed to be as boring as it had been before death. But Betty was waving happily at her from a corner so Roxy just raised her eyebrows on her next loop past and pushed on.

The junior levels of the class took her through some of the basic kicks, but then they got down to their patterns and Roxy found herself migrating towards the more advanced corner of the room. Some of the better students were pairing up against each other and sparring. It was entrancing, in the same way that improv group dancing had been. The give and take of it all. The mishmash of personal body language and shared known steps and sequences. The two who were currently at it were pretty good at what they did. The sharp restricted tension in the kicks Roxy had learned were turned through experience and adrenalin into flowing free movement. They weren't fighting, or dancing. It was a mixture of both.

She didn't like to admit that Betty – and presumably Rube in his all-knowing wisdom – might have been right. But they were. She really needed this. She could feel her feet and fingers and joints just _ready_ to be up there with the others. To be powerful and in motion again.

The taller guy on the left scored a hit against the other's side, and then just as suddenly they were recovering into a straight posture. Facing each other with their feet together they bowed and moved to sit cross-legged in the group that Roxy had joined. The taller one ended up near her.

'That was amazing. You're very good at that.'

He smiled and shrugged. 'I practice. You're new, right?'

'Right.'

He nodded. 'I'm Matt.'

Max, who was called something Asian that Roxy couldn't remember properly but didn't sound much like Sensei, held a hand up and stopped the next pair from starting their round.

'Brown, don't forget to share a sense of discipline with our new recruit along with that welcoming smile.'

'No, sir. Of course, sir.'

Well, fuck it. If that didn't just take the fucking cake. Roxy could understand now, why Mason swore more often than he didn't. There were just so many reasons life sucked when you were in the ranks of the undead. Matt Brown had probably got half an hour left to live. Fifteen minutes until the end of the class, then ten minutes for a stretch-down. In the five minutes after that, he would die. Roxy looked askance around the room, trying to see if there were any Gravelings around. Not a one.

No, wait. There was one. She saw it as they were directed back into their lineup for the final stretches. It was rummaging around in the box of pens and papers that sat on the signup table, doing god knew what but it couldn't have been good.

  
They straightened as a unit, bowed, and even with the knowledge of Matt's imminent death Roxy felt a little happiness and peace in her body. She'd used her arms and legs and she'd forgotten – how could she have forgotten – that heavy relaxation. You had to feel it to know it. She rolled her head around on her neck and as the others departed she found herself lingering over the signup table. Maybe she'd look into joining somewhere like this for real.   


'Where do I sign?' The words were out of her mouth almost before she'd noticed that Max was settling into his chair behind the table. 

He winked up at her. 'I could tell from the second you came in that this would suit you. Here. Insurance and other information's all in these papers.'

Roxy flipped through them, and felt her heart rise into her chest as she heard someone walk up behind her. It was Matt, she knew it was.

'So you said you'd got the forms for the tournament?'

Max flipped through the papers in the box and then slapped two of them down in front of Matt. 'Here you go. And a pen.'

Matt set about filling in his details. Roxy peeked. There were things like weight classes and level of qualification in specific styles. Perhaps because this place taught multiple disciplines, Matt was having trouble deciding what to put down in those fields. He chewed on the end of the biro he held. Roxy swallowed reflexively as she saw the plastic give and bend more than it should have.

It happened sometimes when you were reaping. You forgot to take the soul early enough, and then you were seconds away from the death and time was stretching out forever. Roxy's arm didn't seem to be able to move fast enough, even though it got there in time. She brushed up against his elbow where it was braced against the table, slipped his soul carefully out from under him, and turned back to her own forms with a mumbled apology.

She squeezed her eyes shut when she heard the wet thwack of plastic getting stuck in his windpipe. The raspy gasping noises that reminded her of her own death. Max was rushing around, trying to help. She could do nothing, nothing.

Then he was gone. There were sirens as the ambulance came closer. Betty was beside Max, telling him that he'd done all he could. That he was fine, good. It was all going to be okay.

'Crap. I was really going to kick ass in that tournament.' Matt's soul stood beside Roxy, looking down at the pink exertion that still lingered on his corpse's face.

'Yeah, this really sucks.'

Matt patted Roxy on the shoulder as if she was the one who needed consoling. 'This was your first time somewhere like this?'

'Yeah.'

Roxy had no idea what Max might be making of her speaking to thin air, but he seemed a bit too much in shock to notice much.

'Do I have to go anywhere?'

Roxy shrugged. 'Not till you're ready, I've found.'

Matt grinned far too happily for someone who'd just died. 'Great. There's an oval near here. She can see me?'

Betty nodded and waved with the fingers of her free hand, rubbing calming circles on Max's back with the other.

'Can you make sure he gets home okay? We'll be... at this oval.'

Betty nodded. 'I understand. I'll make sure of it, sweetie.'

'Don't call me your fucking sweetie.'

Roxy hadn't really gone on a long walk with anyone she'd reaped before. She'd chased them down and had them stalk her around while they lingered. This camaraderie was new. Matt was eager and honest. He talked like a waterfall, bubbling over about how fulfilling and rewarding and empowering his first Aikido class had been. How he'd never been able to turn back after that.

'All right. So I know you don't know this one, but I can talk you through it. You remember the basic stance?'

'Yeah, I got it.' Roxy put her feet shoulder width apart like she'd been shown, one leg to the front and knees slightly bent. Her weight balanced in the middle. One hand in a loose fist at her waist, the other raised and bent at the elbow, relaxed and easy in the air.

'Great. So I'll stand beside you, here... and we'll go to the left first, with a low block. Just follow me, and ask if you have any questions.'

He talked her through it, and after the first few moves she was able to follow along all right. It was obvious that the pattern was a beginner one. But once she'd figured out the shape of it and had it in her mind, it was easy. She probably picked it up because she was so used to doing that kind of thing. Left foot here, right arm waving over there. On the beat now, one-two. She wasn't perfect in her stance or pacing and her arms didn't have the economy of movement that Matt's did, but she could keep up.

They just did the same pattern over again, and over again. Slower than walking and in straight boring lines. It felt stilted, but Roxy knew that with experience she'd be able to pick up the pace. Make it more fluid and organic, make it feel right. It was good in a way that nothing since her death had been. They finished that round of the pattern, assumed a position of attention with their feet together, facing towards where the instructor would have stood if they'd been in that training room. It felt like this was a conclusion. A good end. They bowed, and then Matt took a few steps forward. He turned to face Roxy, and he smiled.

He started in on a much more complex pattern. It involved different stances and speeds. He did some things that really looked like they belonged in one of those over-the-top Jackie Chan films. Wide sweeps with his arms and this weird swishing hook movement out behind his back that seemed to twist his spine beyond human biology. Roxy watched in awe and envy. She was so learning that. Fuck, she was taking this up, no matter what.

As he moved, that shimmering glow of the beyond began to resolve around him. It started as a foggy glow, but condensed and clarified into the outlines of other people. Faceless and generic, but all following the same pattern with breathtaking precision and co-ordination. Another turn and one of those weird hooky things, and Matt was gone; he broke down into small lights that swirled around and into the fog as the other shapes lost coherence. Within seconds he was gone and there was nothing left but the darkness of the night and the cool wetness of the grass against her trousers.

Roxy sat after that in the damp grass and just waited. When Betty's car pulled up, she was ready to go. She climbed in feeling loose-limbed and at peace.

'If you promise not to say 'I told you so', I'll pay for your breakfast tomorrow.'

 **  
Duane   
**

Duane was a calm, happy, relaxed guy who seemed to be far better adjusted to reaping than anyone else in their group. Betty tried to understand people, as if that made the loss of them less in the grander scheme of things. Mason went through good patches where he was clean and lucid and kind and wonderful, but then he'd get floored by the death of a child or a nice young woman and he would sink into this torpor. Also sometimes Mason just got wasted for the fuck of it. But usually there were triggers for it. Rube, for all his noble words about the system and death being like fate, tended to get this disapproving crinkle in the middle of his forehead whenever he thought a death was unfair or when he had to reap young women and girls of a particular physical type; brown hair, heart-shaped face, friendly smile. Roxy had broken more than her fair share of rules trying to 'fix' things.

Duane seemed to understand the inevitability of death in a way that none of them could. The way he put it, on a morning where he and Roxy had beaten everyone else to their table in Der Waffle Haus, was very touching.

'Death comes anyway. We've all seen that somehow, when the souls get left behind. I like to think that we're more angelic than we are grim. We're the ones who bring God's mercy to those who need it most. When they need it most of all.'

Roxy knew that one of their main purposes as reapers was to bring solace to the dead, but she'd never considered herself as anything close to angelic.

'Why does death make that so important? Some people suffer their whole lives, and not just from physical pain. You of all people should know about the pain of being treated like a second-class citizen. You lived in this city before the equal rights movement, didn't you?'

'Well yes, but that is quite a different matter.'

Roxy crossed her arms and wished he wasn't so hard to be angry at, with his peaceful smile and easy manner. He was the spitting image of the inner calm that her Tae Kwon Do instructor kept encouraging her to find.

'I don't see how. Just because you don't see the soul, doesn't mean it isn't getting just as injured as when it's dying.'

'Oh, it's different,' Duane reassured her, 'because as long as you're alive, you still have a chance to heal.'

'Does that mean that you see every time we're late or can't identify the person as a failure? Even if they find peace and get their lights?'

Duane chuckled, his whole body shaking with it, as if Roxy had just said the funniest thing on earth.

'No, of course not!'

Roxy shook her head. 'Maybe I'm just not the type of person who can comprehend your outlook on life and death.'

'Maybe.' Duane seemed completely at ease with the thought. It freaked Roxy out a little sometimes, how accepting he was of everything and everyone. No man could be that happy, could he? He was younger than Rube, so it couldn't be something that came with age.

Speak of the devil, there was Rube. He slid in beside Duane, which meant that Mason and Betty would end up squashing Roxy right up into the corner of the booth if she wasn't careful. She shifted a little further towards the middle of the bench and set her athletic thighs to the important task of keeping her put no matter how many bodies crowded in on her.

'Morning, Rube.'

There was Mason, right on schedule. He was followed by a woman, but she wasn't Betty. She was shorter, with a short cutesy haircut and small cutesy eyes and nose to match.

'Hi guys, glad to have me back?'

Duane smiled that smile of his. 'You have no idea how much we've missed you, Penny.'

'Penny?' Roxy craned her neck around Mason to get a better look at this new strange person.

'Oh right.' Rube cleared his throat and waved his hands between the two of them. 'Penny, meet Roxy. Roxy's our new girl.'

Penny smiled. 'Hello Roxy. Don't worry, I'm not going to be here for long. I have completed my probationary training period, and soon I will be qualified in terms of the living and the dead to move on to my new position.'

'You mean you're going to, er, cross over?'

Penny burst into laughter. 'What the hell have they been telling you? No, I'm just getting a break. Seventy years I've been in External. I've gotten my diploma and a nice easy job at the hospital in the Natural Causes department.'

'Oh. You can transfer, then? I could transfer?'

Rube raised an eyebrow at her. 'You haven't been at this a year yet, Roxy. Don't start making any big plans. Transfers to nice departments are in high demand and only exemplary reapers get transferred.'

Mason clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and steepled his fingers together. 'So does that mean you've never been good enough for a transfer, Ruby old fellow?'

'No, that means that Rube got a promotion. People don't just get reaped into positions of power like his you know. Everyone starts at the bottom, you got to earn your way up.' Penny smiled like a person who'd known Mason for a long time.

'All right, can I get your orders?' Kiffany was on that morning. She was about as young as Angelo, but unlike him she wasn't working her way through college. Once you knew that, it was easy to see it in their faces. Angelo had this optimism about him. Kiffany just had determination. She also had a full-time load of shifts.

'Iced tea without the ice. Please. And you got something with hash browns? I'd like hash browns.'

'Eggs over easy, toast, bacon, and some syrup pancakes please.' Duane always took the time to smile and make eye contact when he ordered.

Rube nodded in approval. 'Make that two. Bacon extra crispy. I like a man who likes his food. Can't trust a person who won't have good food when they've got the choice.'

'Just a coffee for me, thanks, Kiff.' Mason pushed his mug out so that she could reach it.

'Point in case.'

'Oi! I'll have you know I was up all night with the munchies. I've got no space left, otherwise I would so have a large breakfast. If I could pay for it.'

Roxy rolled her eyes and pushed Mason's elbow out of her ribs. 'You're not helping your case any, Mason.'

Mason didn't even seem to notice that he was jabbing and bumping Roxy with every word he spoke and every twitch in his body. If it had been any other day, Roxy would have brought the heel of her foot down on top of his. But she looked across the table and caught Duane's eye, and a bit of the frustration she felt with Mason evaporated. Not all of it, of course, but a bit.

'Yeah, all right.' Roxy said. Duane winked at her, but Rube was giving her a very odd look. 'Oh, right. I'll have the überwaffle, thanks.'

Betty showed up while Kiffany was still writing on her order pad. She grabbed a chair from around the corner and tucked it under the table. 'Is it too late for me to ask for a fruit salad?'

Kiffany smiled warmly. 'For you, hon, anything. If that's all, then I'll be right back.'

Penny caught up with Rube about something or other. Roxy was tired from working a double shift driving deliveries and they'd had a group reap the morning before to top it all off. It was easier to focus on one thing, that strange confusing contentment of Duane's. The babble of conversation as everyone caught up with this strange new woman. A few months ago Roxy would have felt a little threatened or upset, to have been kept in the dark by Rube, by everyone. It did feel strange, but she'd grown a bit more used to the different qualities of posthumous life and socialisation. People could live forever, but they swam in and out of contact. This intense proximity and detached apathy coexisting. There could be any number of reasons that they'd had for keeping Penny's existence from Roxy. Maybe she had simply been out of sight, out of mind.

'So you've taken over from Atherton?'

The question came as a bit of a surprise. Roxy might have been okay with Penny's sudden appearance and familiarity with everyone, but she wasn't okay with answering that.

'Roxy's a great addition to the team.' It was Duane who answered. He seemed to understand Roxy in a way that disturbed her. She didn't like being so readable. But nobody else seemed to have noticed her own reaction or Duane deflecting the attention away from her.

'Your placement went well?'

Penny chuckled and stared off into the distance. 'Well, as good as it can go when Steve's around.'

Rube frowned and resettled himself in his seat, the PVC creaking underneath him. 'I thought Steve was with Incurable Diseases?'

Penny shrugged. 'Hospital. He has lunch with us if our shifts match.'

'Fair enough.'

Mason twiddled his fingers and bit his lip as if he was building up to something incredibly important. It was, of course, something stupid. 'So what sort of paperwork do you need to transfer, then?'

Betty rolled her eyes. 'He's hoping for Plague division, I think.'

'Oh, for... you heard the man, Mason. Nobody as new as me or as incompetent as you has a hope in hell of being eligible for that shit.' Their food had arrived so Roxy speared a bite of waffle on her fork to punctuate her sentence. 'And what the hell is Plague Division? I haven't heard of no plagues anywhere recently.'

'That's because there haven't been any in decades,' Rube said. 'At least not on this continent.'

'Oh.' Roxy thought she got it, then. 'Ohh. I see. Mason, Mason, Mason. You have got to have learned by now in your life, there's no way you'd qualify for a sweet position like that.'

Mason opened his mouth to answer, but Penny beat him to it.

'Oh I dunno. I mean, if you've got to have some personnel going to waste somewhere, you might as well send the biggest fuck-ups there.'

'Are you saying you think I'm too competent to be in Plagues, Penny? I always knew I loved you best!'

Roxy had Mason by the scruff of his shirt before he'd had the time to get one arm around Penny for a hug.

Penny peered around Mason and nodded in approval. 'I can see that the new girl earns her keep.'

'Hey, I am feeling very discriminated against here. Why is everyone ganging up on me?'

So Mason was in a whiny mood that morning. Figured.

'Some days I think we're closer than family.' Duane was still so fucking calm and happy. It made Roxy's gut boil.

'Not any family I'd want to admit to having,' Rube said, and that was the end of that. Rube took the last bite of his breakfast and doled out Post-its to Betty, Penny, and Mason. None for Roxy or Duane.

'We being left out for a reason?' Roxy had to ask.

'Just a slow day. Enjoy it while you can.'

People finished their drinks, paid for their food, and headed out to be the black angels of death out there in the city. Roxy found herself sitting with half an inch of tepid coffee and the awkwardness of being alone with Duane. Neither of them said anything. But after a minute or two Duane stood up and counted money out onto the table. Added a tip.

'You coming? Thought I'd take a walk, enjoy the area.'

'What, you mean the traffic and the bullshit artists and the rush hour panic?' 

Roxy stood anyway and joined him. They left the glass and air conditioning insulated peace of Der Waffle Haus and strolled side by side on the sidewalk in the opposite direction to the people who were headed towards their workplaces. If you looked at it from above, two people together walking against the flow of society and life, it would have been symbolic and visually striking. From close-up, all it really felt like was people bumping up against Roxy's shoulders and intruding into her personal comfort bubble.

It wasn't that Duane didn't get jostled by people. He was bigger than Roxy in all directions and he probably got more of a bruising from it than she did. But he seemed to be bothered far less. He twisted and shuffled and shrugged past people like it came to him naturally.

'I think I get it now,' Roxy said. She had to raise her voice over the hubbub of the street. 'It's like that shit they taught me in my Kung-fu class. The river flows around the stone. It isn't just about learning how to use energy and posture to your advantage.'

Duane turned towards her. 'Oh?'

'Yeah. It's more about... the way people work. I'm like the stone, and you're a river. You flow. I just kinda sit there, with hard edges. They both affect each other, even if they can't share the same perspective. There is no way I'll ever understand you. I mean, some people just don't deserve to die. Others do. And what we reapers do can be harrowing shit. I will never be able to get how you live like that.'

Duane smiled, but he seemed sad. Actually, honestly, sad. 'Everyone deserves to die, Roxy. That's what being alive's about.'

'You'll have to talk to the stone, man, because my heart disagrees.'

They kept walking. The silence between them was a little less comfortable than it had been, but it was more familiar. As if just by talking about how different their viewpoints were Roxy had been able to accept him a bit easier. She felt distant from him, but in a good way.

 **  
Angelo   
**

'Hello there, Roxy lady!'

Angelo was a good twenty years older, slipping into the booth opposite Roxy, but the only real differences in him were the wrinkles around his eyes and the tidier length of his dreads. He certainly hadn't learned any more manners. Still, it was good to see him again. What with Duane and Betty just leaving like that, and within a few months of each other, Roxy was craving the familiar faces of her afterlife. Not that they hadn't seen Angelo around Der Waffle Haus every now and then when he'd dropped past, but taking the time to sit down and just catch up was wonderful.

'So how ya been?'

Roxy shrugged. 'Same old, same old I'm afraid.'

'You weren't a cop last time I came by.'

'Yeah, well you don't come by often enough, do you? Mister sound-income, property investment manager. And I'm not a cop. I'm a parking inspector.'

He winked at her. 'Coulda fooled me, with that uniform.'

'Yeah, well.' Roxy refused to be charmed, because he was way too young for her. Old. He was older now than she'd ever been. But it was hard to look at him and not see that kid, all knees and elbows and tired college student bags under his eyes. It was easier with Kiffany and Casey, somehow. Seeing people age, it came as less of a shock. Smiling with Angelo, the unnatural life of a reaper really hit home.

'But you don't look a day older, unlike some poor people.'

Roxy winced. She didn't want to have to come up with some excuse. 'Just good old Oil of Olay, I suppose.'

'Nah, can't be that.' Angelo took one of her hands in his – it didn't feel as invasive as when other people did it somehow – and gave her a knowing smile. 'I'm no fool, Roxy. I know your little group is something else and special. Whether you are space aliens, angels, or devils isn't my business to know. I don't care as long as my friends are happy.'

The relief hit Roxy like a slap to the face. Physical and hard and real. Her breath sighed right out of her lungs reflexively, ignoring her years of practice and training and self-control. She knew that Kiffany and the others they saw regularly turned a blind eye to the immortality amongst their ranks, but to have Angelo put it so succinctly and calmly was something else. His not caring at all, that was saying either something wonderful or terrifying about human nature that Roxy didn't truly want to think about.

'Well, are they?'

'Oh, right. Yes. They're happy. Though you've probably heard about Duane? He's not with us anymore. He moved on. Then Betty.'

Angelo nodded solemnly. 'Yeah, I heard. You think they found some sort of peace?'

Roxy thought about what George had said, about Betty's last words to her and how she'd jumped off the cliff.

'I sure as hell hope so. Anyway, we got a new girl now. George.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah. You talked to Kiffany yet? She's probably told you about her already, George's the one who brought that dog in yesterday. Golden retriever, if you can believe it.'

Angelo looked delighted at that. He rubbed his chin and nodded approvingly. 'Good to know things aren't getting stale or boring for you lot, then.'

Roxy felt a little warm laughter in her own chest at the very thought. 'No, not boring. Though I think she gets along better with Mason than I'm comfortable with. Might have to bring that asshole back down to earth before he starts getting any ideas.'

'You do know that nine tenths of Mason's failings are the front that he puts up?'

Roxy didn't like to admit it, but that was maybe a little true. 'Still, that last tenth of his is genuine enough to compensate for the rest.'

'You say that, but I know for a fact you would miss him if he wasn't here.'

It was easier to drink coffee than it was to answer that. If it had been anyone other than Angelo, Roxy would have kicked them in the shins. As it was, she just took a few seconds to look out the window and recover a bit of space.

'Do you mind if I...?' She could tell from the scritching sound that Angelo had a pencil and some paper on the table beside him. If she remembered correctly, he'd minored in Art for whatever reason. He'd sometimes done sketches for women, back when he worked shifts and was as eager to pick up as any other young college boy.

'No, sure, it's fine. And I'm sorry, it's just... Betty didn't go the way that we usually do. Nobody knows what happened to her. Not that we know what happened to Duane, but, well...'

Angelo kept scritching away, his eyes on the paper. 'But there's not knowing and then there's _not knowing_. I follow.'

'Well I'm glad someone does, cos I fucking well don't.'

Roxy couldn't help taking a peek at his sketch, but Angelo curled his arms around it and tutted at her. 'Oh no, young lady. Not until it's ready. Now you just keep enjoying your coffee and let me do my work.'

'Your work isn't sitting around in a place like this making art. It's dealing in property. Unless you'd rather be bussing tables again.'

Kiffany showed up at their side holding two plates of pie. 'Oh, I wish he would. The tips that you used to get, Angelo. We haven't had it that good since.' She set their plates down and clasped a friendly hand on Angelo's shoulder. 'And how come you get to age so gracefully, hmm?'

'Oh you know I'm far from the best specimen in this room, Kiffany.'

Roxy was getting her best glower ready to throw at the guy when he next looked up. Some things were best left unspoken. But then she realised he wasn't talking about the agelessness of the reapers at all.

'I wish I had your complexion some days, woman. Though I don't envy you the stress levels working here. I swear, toughest job on earth I ever had was in this place.'

'I don't doubt it,' Roxy agreed. 'Customer service is shit. Too many dickheads in this town to count.'

  
Kiffany gave them both a smile borne from the solidarity one earns taking shit for a living. She looked around the tables and sighed. 'Guess I'd better get back to work. Angelo, don't leave it so long next time, or you'll come back to find us all dead and buried.'   


'I love you too, Kiffany.'

It was only a quick sketch, because soon enough Angelo was tapping his pencil against the paper and pushing it towards Roxy.

'Done. Not much, but it's been literally years since I've seen either of them.'

Roxy was looking down at two quick rough outlines of Duane and Betty's faces. The sketches weren't picture perfect, but they captured some of the emotion and expression that they'd had in their lives. More importantly, they had about their eyes some of the qualities that had imprinted in Roxy's mind most of all. Duane's peace and acceptance and unfathomable difference to herself. Betty's determination and insight, with a little bit of overly judgemental distance. She tried not to let her fingers trace over it too much. She'd frame it somehow, keep the picture from degrading too much.

'You know, the best part about working here was all the people I got to meet. The regulars. Folk like you.'

'You know? I've never thought about it that way. I think about the people I've met, not the people who've met me. If that even makes sense.'

Just the look on Angelo's face told Roxy all she needed to know. He understood. He got it.

'It does to me. I think most of the time nobody realises that.'

The door jingled as it opened. Rube and George walked in, took seats in the same familiar booth in the middle of the room. As they walked past, Rube nodded his head at Angelo.

'Well, looks like it's time to go. Sorry I have to rush out on you.'

Angelo stood with Roxy, clasped her hand in his. 'Not at all, really, if I don't head out the back and say 'hi' to everyone, Kiffany will have my balls on a plate. I'll see you soon. Don't let people start missing you, all right?'

  
'I...' Roxy hadn't thought about others missing her. She'd left her family and most of the hang-ups from her mortal life behind her years ago. The second that Angelo said it, she knew that if she'd been the one to go instead of Duane or Betty, she    
_would_   
have been missed. They wouldn't have talked about her, but only because like with Duane and Betty it was like trying to tiptoe around a huge black fucking hole in the middle of your heart. How could you talk about that?   


'I will. I mean, I won't. I won't let that happen. I'll keep in touch.'

'Hmn. Good.' Angelo waved to Mason, who was just coming in the door behind Daisy like always, and then headed around and through the staff doors. Roxy folded the piece of paper up carefully, not wanting to smudge or crease the pictures, and went to take her usual seat for breakfast.


End file.
